Wandlore Holiday OS Comp
by Hails.the.Mermaid
Summary: Collection of one shots for a holiday one shot competition.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a collection of one shots put together by some people for a small competition for Wandlore of Harry Potter on Facebook.**

 **All submissions are anonymous until after voting. Voting access will be in Wandlore.**

 **Enjoy! ;)**


	2. Disclaim

Disclaim.

- _December 24_ _,_ _1943_ -

Everyone that was going home for the holiday's left three days ago. Hermione couldn't be happier. She could finally work in peace, for the most part. Sure she still had to avoid Tom a little bit in order to do so, but it was worth it.

She spent her days in the library, her dorm, with her brother, or the Great Hall. She visited Dumbledore once a day to check in with him. He was, after all, her 'uncle' in this time as well. ' _Some things never change_ ,' she thought as she made her way from the library to his office for her daily visit.

She knocked on his door, and he told her to enter. "Ah, Mya. I was just about to come find you. Something has come up."

"What do you mean, Albus?" She had never had to deal with something like this. He was always there, or she had a few days notice if he was going to go away.

"I have to leave tomorrow for something important. You'll find out in due time just what it is I need to do, but I will not be back until just before the holiday is over. Do you think you can handle that?" he asked her while looking over his half-mooned spectacles.

"I should be able to do so, sir. Please do not get harmed. Well, depending on the level of dangerousness you may get hurt. Don't get too severely injured then." She was rambling, and both knew it. Mirth danced in his eyes as she talked. He knew he'd be okay. She was proof of that.

"You must go now, Miss. Marsella. I believe you have much to do for yourself, do you not?"

"Indeed I do. And I must tell Mason as well, sir."

"And here; this may be helpful to you, no?" as he pulled a sack from his drawer that jingled slightly at the movement.

She thanked him as she took the sack and left the room in a daze.

Hermione knew it was dangerous, but she left the grounds anyways. She needed a few things from Hogsmeade, and it could not wait. Christmas was tomorrow. Harry was with her, so she didn't have to worry on her way into Hogsmeade. They split up, saying that they would meet up at the Three Broomsticks in a few hours time.

As she made her way through the streets, she spotted one of the people she was getting something for, but she had to avoid him. He couldn't know that she was getting him something. It would ruin the surprise.

She ducked into the bookshop quickly. She had seen something a few weeks ago on another trip into the village and she was hoping it would still be here. Much to her relief, it was. She picked the book up, then one for herself, and then headed for the checkout.

Once she purchased _Everything You Could Ever Need to Know about Snakes_ for Tom and _All Details about Potions and Poisons_ for herself, she made her way out into the winter air. She didn't notice someone trying to get her attention until she smacked into that person. When she looked up, she was looking into dark blue eyes that she knew all too well for her liking.

"You finally notice me, Marsella. Sure took you long enough," Tom stated as he righted her. "What are you doing here anyways?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," she told him trying desperately to keep her calm.

"Just needed to get out of the castle. I've answered your almost question, now you answer my question: What are you doing here?" his inquired raising an eyebrow.

"I was shopping, if you couldn't tell. I have permission to be here. Now I must be going. I still have a few things to purchase," she told him in an eerily calm voice as she went to go past him. She still had to buy dress robes for the ball being held next month, and potions ingredients for her own stocks. Plus she was hoping to find something else for Tom. She wanted him to have a good Christmas. ' _It_ is _the little things after all.'_

He kept in step with her as he asked, "May I help you with your shopping then, and maybe you could join me for a Butterbeer afterward?"

"No, Riddle. I need to do this on my own, if you don't mind. Some of my purchases will not be suitable for your eyes to see."

"And why not?" He wanted to know what this witch was buying. It might help him figure her out. He also hoped that she wasn't buying something for only her _precious_ Mason to see. He wouldn't be able to stand that. And he was her brother anyways. It would be so wrong.

"You'll see in due time. Now I must be going, if you'll excuse me," she once again tried to get past him. He caught her arm.

"Would you at least join me for a Butterbeer after you're done?" he whispered in her ear. She shivered, but he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or his breath tickling her ear. He was hoping for the latter, but he still hadn't figured out as to why.

"If that's the price for you to let me shop in peace, than yes. I should be done in about an hour, maybe a little more. Don't wait too long, Riddle. Your patience may wear thin." She pulled out of his grasp and headed down the street. She needed to get on with her purchases. She also needed to calm herself. ' _Why does he have this effect on me?_ '

The stop at the local potion was a quick trip. Now she had to go to the dressmakers, then the jewelers. She wanted something simple to go with the dress. But she needed to find that dress first.

Hermione didn't know that Tom had been following her. He kept a safe distance from her, as he did not want her to get annoyed with him. Though he thought that she looked better when angry. Passionate, and fire danced in her eyes, and- ' _Stop it, Tom. This doesn't help anything.'_

He waited until she was in the next shop she was stopping in to catch up to her. What he didn't expect was that she would be in a dress robes shop.

She went through the dresses carefully, picking out only those that she felt would work best for herself. There were several sets of robes piled in her arms before she went into the dressing rooms to see how they fit.

When she came out to look in the mirror, Tom's heart stopped. She looked wonderful in the red dress robes. The under dress itself was tight in the bodice with a scoop neck. The robe that went over it was shorter than the dress and covered her shoulders. The dress had a fine gold trim. She looked like a member of Gryffindor House instead of a Slytherin, but it fit her so well. Tom could not take his eyes off of her. He watched her expression in the mirror. She seemed to be thinking about the dress. Then her face scrunched up a bit, and he knew she was thinking about how it looked like something a Gryffindor would wear. There was sadness in her eyes though.

She went back to the changing room to try on a different dress.

The next one she chose to try on was a deep purple dress. The bodice in this one was tight as well, but it had a square neckline. The skirt was a bit smaller than the red dress, but it was still a loose skirt. The robe was simple from where Tom stood, but if he could have looked closer, he would have noticed that it had black embroidery over the edges. But he could not possibly see that from where he stood. He thought that the red ones looked better on her then this one.

She seemed to have to same thought because she took one look at the dress and a look of distaste washed over her face. She went to change into a different dress as fast as she could.

A rich blue and white one on next. The dress fit her well: tight blue bodice with white flowing sleeves and a slight V-neck and a white skirt with blue lace covering it. The robes were the same shade of blue starting at the bottom, but as you worked your way up the robe, it got lighter until you reached the hood, which was white. The whole thing together was a balanced combination. She smiled. Tom could tell she really liked that dress.

She went back to the room. She seemed to be picking the dresses out at random, but when she came out he knew she wasn't.

The plain leaf green dress stopped about an inch after hitting the ground, which the others had just barely hit the floor, and the dress was covered by a darker green robe. The sleeves of the dress were tight and stopped just after her elbows and the bodice didn't look as tight as the others, but still tight enough. The neckline wasn't too defined the way she stood, but he could tell that it was high. He thought that the dress would work well for her, but he still liked some of the others much more. She seemed to be looking at it heavily, like she couldn't decide whether or not she liked it. She took off the robe to get a better look at the dress, but didn't seem to like it all that much. Tom didn't know why she didn't like it, but he did. The cut suited her. Finally she decided to try on the last dress.

When she came out, and took a look in the mirror her face lit up. It was like she found almost exactly what she was looking for. The black dress was cut much like the green one. The sleeves were a little looser and they stopped half way between her elbow and her wrist. The neckline was a scoop-V-neck combination and started just before it would have dropped off of her shoulders. It started like a scoop neck, and dipped a bit lower than the others that had a similar neckline, but at the middle it dipped slightly. Green trimmed the edge of the sleeves, the collar and the bottom of the dress.

Tom couldn't take his eyes off of her again. Of course he never really did the whole time while seeing her anyways. What was getting into him?

She hadn't found that one dress that she liked, but Hermione had found things she liked about each dress. Well, almost every one of them.

"Sir?" she asked the tailor.

"Yes, madam?" he answered wondering what she was going to ask him.

"Could you make me a custom dress that takes certain pieces of each dress that I liked?"

"What do you have in mind, miss?"

"Well, I like the sleeves and the lace of the blue number, and the trim of both the red and black pieces. And I liked the length of the green one. Could you make the dress fall about an inch past my feet, and have a full A-line skirt?"

"Yes, I think I could do that," he said thoughtfully. He took out a piece of parchment and started having her requests draw themselves out.

"And for the bodice could you make it tight with a V-neck, but still give me the ability to breathe? Oh! And I almost forgot to ask about having trim on the sleeves and collar of the dress. How ridiculous of me!" she exclaimed.

"No, no. I think you mentioned that, but I think I can figure something out. Now, Miss, what colours do you want this little number to be?"

"Black and red, please. Black sleeves with deep red trim, matching red bodice and skirt with black lace over the skirt. And could you have the robe be black with red trim, and just a little shorter than the dress itself. I don't want both on the ground." She paused for a moment while he thought about this. "Oh, and could you have it ready by the middle of next month?"

"I could, but it would cost you."

"As it should. We'll figure out the price then. Here's one hundred galleons in advance," she told him as she pulled the money out of her purse. "Now, can you have a sketch fully done by the end of this week?"

"Thank you for the payment, and yes I would think so. I might have it done by the end of the day even. Come check in here to find out," he told her kindly.

"Thank you. Good day, sir."

"Good day, miss."

Tom hurried away from the window as she left the counter of the dress robe shop. He walked up the street, then turned back to see which direction she went. She wasn't coming his way. He turned back around and entered the shop she had just come out of.

"Merry Christmas!" Tom called through the shop.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle!" the man behind the counter exclaimed. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

"Mr. Luchendo," Tom greeted. "How have you been?"

"I'm good, Tom, but you still haven't answered my question," the old tailor said with a twinkle in his eye. He knew Tom was outside his shop. He had seen the boy looking in the window at the young woman who had just left the shop.

"I need dress robes for a ball next month," Tom told him easily.

"Anything in mind?"

"Just my usual black and white attire, if you don't mind, of course."

Mr. Luchendo smiled. "Of course I don't mind. Now, tell me about that young woman whom was just in here. You were watching her. You can't hide anything from me, Tom, and you know it."

Tom blushed slightly, but covered it up quickly with his mask of calm. "She's the new student at Hogwarts. Her name is Mya Marsella and she's a Slytherin," Tom said easily. She had still kept so much from him that he didn't know much passed that. "And she has a twin brother. He's in Ravenclaw. Not a bad guy, but there's something about those two that doesn't feel right."

"I see," the older man said thoughtfully. "Now, I've never seen you show an interest in someone before. Well, at least not of the female variety anyways," the older man smirked slightly. "Usually the people you seek out are to help you in some way."

"So you think that she's different from the people I usually associate with?"

"Yes, in fact, that is exactly what I am saying," the shopkeeper stated. "And you said she was a Slytherin?" Tom gave a curt nod. "The red and gold dress she chose was an odd colour combination for one who comes from the house of green and silver, don't you think?"

"I found it odd too, but it suited her. Now, I must be going I have a few things I have to take care of before I meet her for a Butterbeer," Tom said ending the conversation about Hermione easily. "I will be back sometime before the holiday is over for my fitting." He told the happy middle-aged man as he made his way out of the shop.

While Tom was talking to the marry dress robe shopkeeper, Hermione went to the jewelers. She wanted to find something simple for the ball.

As she opened the door, which jingled a bit to alert that there was a new customers, she spotted a piece immediately that she knew would go so well with her dress: a simple brooch. Garnet and onyx lain in pewter. She knew it would go perfectly with what she had in mind.

"How much is this piece?" Mya asked an elderly woman behind the counter.

"Why, dear, that is one hundred and fifty galleons. Are you looking for something in particular?" the woman asked.

"Well, yes and no. I just needed something to go with a dress I'm having made for a ball. This would be perfect," Mya said with longing in her eyes. She looked at the woman, "I was also going to find a piece for a friend of mine. Do you have silver snakes, preferably a pin?" Mya asked hoping she would have something similar to what she was looking for.

"I think I might. Wait just a moment, please, dear," the saleswoman said.

"Please call me Mya," the younger girl stated.

"Very well, and you shall call me Jane then," the elderly woman told Hermione with a smile on her face as she turned to her back store room to get the piece she had a feeling was right up Hermione's alley. While she was gone, Hermione looked at the rings and bracelets in the cases at the front of the shop. She saw a silver chain that looked just right for her brother. She decided to look at it then.

When Jane came back in, Hermione gasped. It was exactly what she was looking for.

"I'll take it, please," she insisted. "Oh! And could I look at that bracelet? I think that it might be the perfect thing for my brother." Jane pulled the bracelet from the case and handed it to Hermione. "By any chance do you have pieces that would match that broach?"

"I think I do, but I'd have to look in the back again," Jane told her.

"Could I come back after Christmas to have a look then?" Dumbledore had given her enough money to get the things she needed and desired. She nodded and asked, "Could you do a small inscription on the links?"

"Yes, that I could manage. What do you want it to say?" Jane asked Hermione.

" _No matter what happens to us, we are forever_ ," Hermione told the jeweler, who nodded. Giving Hermione the final price, both women were pleased. Hermione gave a hundred galleons, thanked the woman behind the counter, and left the store.

She stopped off in Honeydukes for the perfect gift for her 'uncle' before she made her way to the Three Broomsticks to meet up with Tom and Harry. Once she had all of her purchases, she shrunk them and put them into her sack. She had to hide all of her gifts from Tom. She didn't need him being suspicious of what she bought. She stepped into the warmth of her meeting place with Tom and spotted him immediately. Harry spotted his sister, but was worried as to why she was going over to Tom.

"Hope you weren't waiting too long, Riddle. I told you your patience would wear thin," she said to him as she sat across from her fellow Slytherin.

"I've only been here a few minutes, Marsella. Now, may I know what your purchases were, considering you have only a small sack with you?" he asked keeping the curiosity out of his voice, but Hermione was not fooled.

"We are magical, Riddle. I can put all of my things into this small sack," Hermione said rolling her eyes. That was not wise. In fact, it made Tom seethe that she seemed to not respect him at all.

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Marsella," he told her, all calm leaving his voice as he looked at her with stern eyes.

"I wasn't making fun of you, or calling you an idiot. I was simply pointing out a basic fact. You blow things way too out of proportion, you know that, Riddle?" she finished as she tilted her head to one side.

"You treat me like I am beneath you."

"Mya, are you ready?" Harry said to his sister. She didn't seem to hear him.

"No I don't. You are an equal. Don't forget that. Equal, Tom," she whispered the last piece, but he still heard her. So did her brother.

His face softened slightly, but only for a moment. It was back to its hard mask before Hermione could tell if it was her eyes playing tricks on her. "There is no such thing as 'equal' in a wizarding society, Marsella. In the eyes of many, muggle-borns, mudbloods if you will, and half-breeds are beneath most of us. If you were a mudblood, you would be picked on by the Slytherins, and be the social outcast in the House," Tom explained logically. Hermione couldn't take it.

"Riddle, you will shut your mouth if you know what's good for you. You don't know how those kids feel, so shut your trap," she told him, her voice keeping an eerily calm tone it as she looked at him like she wanted to kill him. She said nothing more as she picked up her sack of gifts and made her way out of the drink shop. She wanted to check in with the dress robe maker about her piece. Harry followed her out.

"Are you brain missing, dear sister? What was that?" Harry said in a hushed whisper.

"Not now, Mason. I'll talk to you about it later, ok?" she said to him sadly.

"Fine." He always did have a soft spot for her.

"Please go back to the shop and get a couple of butter beers to take back with us. I have to check on something. I'll be back in a few minutes," she said as she kissed his cheek, squeezed his hand and left toward the dress robe shop.

"Is my sketch done by chance, Sir?" Mya asked as she entered the shop. Her demeanor changed a great deal as she greeted the shopkeeper.

"Yes, my dear it is. Now I will need your name so that I can keep track of everything. And please do call me Mr. Luchendo."

"Okay, Mr. Luchendo. My name is Mya Marsella."

"Thank you, Miss. Marsella. Now if you could turn slowly in a circle so that my wand can get all of your measurements," Mr. Luchendo asked her as he lifted his wand and started to mutter an incantation. She spun slowly as she was told to do. When she was done, she left the shop. Catching up with Harry at the Three Broomsticks, she headed back to Hogwarts. It had been a long day.

When she entered the Slytherin common room, Tom was waiting for her. "Why do you care so much about mudbloods, Marsella? You're a Slytherin," he asked her from his seat on a black leather couch in front of the fire. Tom had to know why the subject was such sore spot for her. It wouldn't do well for a Slytherin to be so accepting, at least in Tom's eyes.

"Because," she said with tears forming in her eyes, "for my first three and a half years of wizard schooling I thought I was a muggle-born," she whispered into the common room, thankful that it was Christmas vacation for there were no other Slytherins at Hogwarts for the holiday. She was sort of surprised she was telling him this though.

Tom stood shocked looking at the girl in front of him. "How?" he inquired. "Why?" disdain barely concealed in his voice.

She played with the strap of her drawstring bag, but never looked away from Tom. "I found out about a month into my fourth year that both of my parents did in fact go to the school I attended at the time," she answered making sure to keep the details about school out what she said. "It hurt that they kept that from me, but I guess I can understand it. I'm still not sure because I haven't been able to ask them, and I never will, but I think that it had something to do with V-" she clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide as she realized what she was about to reveal to him. She turned away from Tom, and put her other hand over her heart to try to stop its rapid beating. She screamed silently into the hand covering her mouth.

Tom shifted closer to Hermione from his seat on the couch. "Mya?" he whispered, cautiously as she flinched slightly. He _never_ used her first name. "What's the matter?" he asked, hoping she'd tell him.

"Nothing, Riddle," she replied harshly. "I'm going to bed," and she went to the right to go to her dorm.

He stood up quickly and grabbed her arm. "Don't tell me 'nothing', Mya," she flinched again and hoped he didn't feel the slight motion. "Something's wrong. Why can't you tell me?" He wanted to know her so badly. He still hadn't figured out why. The only thing he seemed to know about this girl was that he wanted her, and wanted her to want him as well.

"Because I'm not allowed!" she yelled at him as she pulled her arm from his grasp and turned to face him.

"And why not?" he roared as he grabbed her waist this time. Now he was pissed. No one ever yelled at him. They usually feared him too much.

Hermione looked at him intently. "Let go of me, Tom," she told him dangerously. He let his arm drop from her waist, mostly from shock. She squared her shoulders. She was still standing up to him. She looked him in the eye, and then turned quickly on her heel and ran down the stairs.

Hermione left the common room and Tom behind as she ran to her room, tears streaming down her face. She refused to let the future Dark Lord see her cry.

- _December 25, 1943-_

The next morning Hermione wanted to get away from all of what she was dealing with, at least for a little while, even if it _was_ Christmas. She just needed time to herself, for herself. So, she decided to dance. Let her heart sing and feel like her body was on fire from just dancing so much. But she didn't want to strain anything.

Sitting on the floor, she put her legs into a straddle position, and leaned to her left. Then she sat up, turned her torso to the side and bent over the left leg, repeating the process with the right leg. She didn't hear the door knock over the tune she was humming to herself, and so she continued stretching as if no one had entered.

Tom wasn't sure why, but he had to make sure she was okay. It was eight in the morning and he had charmed the stairs so that he could get down them without being harmed. He figured she'd still be asleep. How very wrong he was. Seeing her stretching made him hard just from the sight. He groaned softly, which Hermione heard.

"Oh, Tom, I didn't hear you," she put a hand over her heart, which was beating very fast, and sat up. Not knowing what she was doing to him, she continued her stretching as she asked, "So, what do you want? And how did you get down here?" she asked rapidly.

"I came to check on you," he said as calmly as he could, avoiding the second question. She got up and he let out a slow breath of relief, but that relief was short lived as she turned so that her back faced him and did a backbend, which had her looking at him upside down.

"I don't need to be checked on, Riddle. I can take care of myself," she said as she let herself drop onto the floor and rolled over. As she pulled herself up, she realized that he was in front of her, which was a surprise.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he asked her, completely forgetting why he came to her room in the first place. She shook her head. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. He dipped his head, and she couldn't push him away. She didn't know why, but she just couldn't do it.

"Mya! You in there?" Harry yelled as he made his presence known and entered her room. She had told him how to charm the stairs so that he could wake her in the case of an emergency. So much for her being able to dance this morning.

Tom dipped his head into her neck and sighed. Hermione looked at her brother with a look of fear on her face. But it wasn't fear of Tom. No. It was fear of her brother, who looked like he was about to kill the other young man. He was clearly not happy about Tom and his sister being wrapped up in each other.

"Ha-Mason! What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, nearly letting his real name slip out fully, but Tom didn't notice the near mistake. He was focused on how her body felt against his and how he wanted to explore this more. ' _Preferably_ without _Mason around,' he thought._

"I came to talk to you, _Mya_. You seemed a bit off yesterday," her brother explained as he glared at Tom, who still had his arms around his sister's waist.

"Oh," Hermione looked downcast. She pulled herself out of Tom's arms. "Could you guys go upstairs? It is Christmas after all. I'll be up in a minute," she looked at both of them with an expression that said she was not to be messed with. Both boys nodded and made to leave the room. "Oh, and, Mason, we'll talk later," she said before he left the room completely.

Hermione grabbed her gifts for the boys. She only grabbed the book for Tom though. She didn't want her brother to worry, or well, get more upset than he already was. And she was mad at him for being so overprotective anyways. ' _Plus, he'll just flip out more that I got Tom_ too much. _Stupid brother type boys.'_

As she made her way up the stairs, she heard them fighting. "…but, Riddle, you need to stay away from my sister," Harry said deadly calm.

"For a Ravenclaw, you sure are Slytherin like. So why do I need to stay away from your sister, Marsella? She didn't seem to mind me holding her." Tom smirked, as they walked in circles around each other wands in hand.

"Why you…" Harry yelled as he lunged at Tom completely forgetting about his wand. Collar in his left hand, Harry had his right hand in a fist ready to punch the guy that would cause so much pain. Of course Tom didn't know that. With any luck they could change things a little.

"Mason James." Two words. That was all it took for her brother to stop himself from hitting Tom. Knowing someone's name is a wonderful thing, even if it was only a pretense to be cautious.

He mumbled a 'sorry' and sat on the couch. Hermione sat next to him, presents in her lap, and Tom took a seat in a green armchair.

"Here," she said putting one of the books on the coffee table in front of them. "This is for you, Tom. You deserve a good Christmas," she said simply as she turned to her brother. "And this is for you," she whispered. Harry opened the book, and looked at it curiously. "I'll explain that a little bit later as well." Hermione looked at Tom. He pulled the paper off of his package. It was a book he had been eyeing. He looked at her wondering how she knew that he'd wanted that book. There was another one he wanted, but that could wait.

"I bought a book for myself as well. _All Details about Potions and Poisons._ I couldn't resist. It was new material." Her eyes twinkled as she looked him in the eye. His were twinkling in a different sense. Hers were out of mirth; his were out of something she couldn't quite place. She turned to her brother and smiled a secret kind of smile. "So…Mason, whatcha get me?" Hermione asked acting like a five year old tilting her head toward her brother and looking at him with an air of innocence. He just chuckled and gave her a package that wasn't too small, but not very big either. She opened it and she cried, but she laughed as well. Sitting on top of black felt was a set of small silver hoops accompanied by a charm bracelet with a small lion with a snake wrapped, in a resting way, around its body.

"I know how much you like that look, and I thought of you when I saw it. And you can add charms to it if you really want to. I thought it suited you well, Mya. It's simple, but not too much so," Harry said as he watched her face. She picked up the bracelet with her left hand and held it out and put her right arm out so that he could put it on her. She hugged him once the clasp was locked and then she turned to Tom.

"What's the matter, Tom?" Hermione asked. He looked at the bracelet on her wrist, and then looked down in shame.

"Nothing," he mumbled. Never, in all the time she had been here, had Tom _mumbled_ something.

"Oh, come on. We're all in neutral territory here. It's Christmas," Harry tried to reason.

Tom just put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a box, which he tapped with his wand to enlarge. Handing the box to Hermione, he went to his dorm and slammed the door, which was heard in the common room. He didn't want to be humiliated.

Hermione just stared at the box for Merlin only knows how long before Harry nudged her. "Are you going to open it, or are you going to look at it until it opens itself?" he asks her. She pulled the silver ribbon off the box, and then the green paper, slowly. Hesitating before opening the box, Hermione pulled the lid off just as slowly as the wrappings. There was a note sitting on the top, which she took and read. ' _Mya, I hope you like your gift. I couldn't really think of what to get you, so I looked through the stores until I found something. I thought of you when I saw it. Well, them. –Tom._ ' It was short, but to the point. She gasped once she moved the tissue paper and pulled her gift out of the box. There was more than one gift in the box, which she didn't notice until Mason started pulling the other things out as she looked at the woven cloth in her hand. She stood up to open it up properly. It was a blanket throw covered in books and famous phrases. When she looked back at her brother, he was holding what looked like a pile of fluff, but it was just a cashmere sweater. It was light grey in colour with a scooped neckline.

"Mason, I need you to leave now. I have to talk to Tom," Hermione said simply. He understood, kissed her cheek and gathered in a hug before he left the common room. She made her way to Tom's room. She waited until he responded to the knock with an 'Enter'. He was lying on his bed looking at the ceiling as if it held all the answers.

"What do you want, Marsella?" he asked coldly without looking at her. "Come to tell me that my gift isn't worth anything compared to your brother's precious jewelry?"

"Riddle, you don't need jewels to be my friend or shower me with expensive things. I loved the throw you got me. It's beautiful, and the sweater is great. I love the colour and it's so soft. You must have spent a fortune on it," she told him trying to make him see that she really liked her gifts.

"You're just saying that. You're only saying that you like them because you know I spent more money on you than you did on me. I know how much that book cost-" she cut him off.

"I bought you something else. I didn't want to give it to you in front of my brother. He's very…" she paused searching for the word. Tom filled in some words.

"Crazy about you, jealous about others being with you?" he probed.

"No, he's just very protective. He knows what kind of trouble I find myself in a lot of the time, and he's just trying to keep me out of it," she explained as best as she could. She paused again, but not long enough for Tom to say anything. "I'll be right back," was all she said as she left to go get his present. When she came back to his room, she had a small box wrapped simply in silver ribbon. She handed it to him and then stepped back leaning against the door jam. Tom untied the ribbon and opened the box, surprised to see that it was a small snake. He picked it up and realized that it was a pin. He turned it over to unclasp the thin metal and gasped. On the back in small letters just big enough to see was the word 'Nagini.'

"Why did you name the snake this?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because I hear you call it sometimes when I'm trying to sleep. I've heard it slither. I know that it's your pet snake," she told him, lying easily once again.

"Only those in my close circle know about her." He eyed her.

"Well, you might want to be careful when holding your little meetings, _my liege_ ," she teased as she jumped onto a bed that was close to her and laid on her stomach. "You guys wake me up sometimes."

"Why not come and join us then?" he asked her not showing that he was mad that she had just teased him about being the Dark Lord.

"Because I'm not like that," she answered simply.

"Not like what?" he asked eyes narrowing.

"A wizard purest. Some people are born with magical powers and some are not. It's just how it is. Only Merlin really knows why, and he never revealed that bit of knowledge in all the books I have read on him, or by him." She rolled over and sat up. "I'll see you later, Tom. I have to go talk to Mason. He's really mad about this morning. Once that's settled, you and I have to talk," she told him the last part quite sternly. She hopped off the bed and left his room.

"Mason!" Hermione called down the hall. He spun around and waited for her.

"What was this morning all about, Mya?" Harry asked her when she stopped in front of him.

"I think you interrupted, but I really don't know. He came to apologize for what he said to me last night, and then he was in front of me and I couldn't push him away. I don't know why, but I just couldn't. Mase, don't be mad. It won't happen again ok. I'll be really, really careful. I have to be more so from now on," she rambled.

"Yeah. Baby sister, I really wanted to punch him this morning. I don't want to catch you guys like that, or anything like it, ever again."

"Now," Hermione said looking at him with her eyebrow raised and her arms crossed. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is. Anyone but him I could deal with. Just not Riddle."

"Mason, you can't control me." She smiled at him and uncrossed her arms to ruffle his hair. "I'm just going to do whatever I want anyways, so stop trying to protect me. I'm a big witch, remember?"

"I'm not going to bail you out every time, Mya."

"You never do. I get myself in and out of trouble." She smiled at him before running off. "Can't catch me," she yelled at him as she ran up the hall away from him leading him to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Later that day, Hermione found herself curled up in front of the fire of her common room with her new book and throw. Tom came in with a wicked grin on his face and couldn't help but think that maybe she should meet his darling pet. He snuck passed her easily and hissed something toward the boys' dorms before a slithering came down the hall. Hermione heard the sound as it came closer to the common room, but ignored it thinking that Tom had called his little snake.

When Hermione looked up at Tom when he sat down on the couch, she realized that snake was not very small at all. In fact, she was of fair size, and Hermione had to wonder how she was kept hidden in Tom's room. At least seven feet long, the snake wrapped around Tom in what she could describe as comfortably and Hermione couldn't help but be mesmerized by the creature. All black except for one white line that seemed to have no rhyme or reason as to where it went on the snake's body, she looked quite regal. When she reached out her hand, although hesitantly as to not scare it, toward the snake, a tiny pink tongue darted out as if to test the girl. Hermione didn't pull her hand back, so Nagini simply rested back on Tom, moving slightly in what seemed to be an adjustment.

"She's quite beautiful," Hermione whispered as her fingertips came in contact with the cool scales.

"She's also quite young for a snake," Tom replied softly, though not the whisper Hermione used.

"Oh?" Hermione said as she looked up at Tom.

"She's about ten. She'll grow to be longer if I feed her more and live to be older than me more than likely."

"That's kind of sad."

"Well, I don't plan on dying any time soon, so for now, she and I are well enough."

"How do you hide her?"

"I don't. The other members of my dorm know about her and don't mind that she's here."

"I see," Hermione said as she sat back from Tom and Nagini.

Nagini sensed that something was different about this girl that her master was talking to. Usually when he brought a girl around her, she had to hide and watch as the girl tried to do things with her beloved master. This girl seemed to want to keep her distance, but at the same time, not. The snake was intrigued by the fact that she could be out in the open with this one. She would have to talk to him about her later. Much later, when he wouldn't expect it.

- _End Exert-_

 _This is a middle exert out of a story I have been working on for far too long, and although it's not so heavily holiday as other things, I think it works out alright. Thanks for reading and good luck to everyone for the contest!_


	3. Same Old Lang Syne

**Same Old Lang Syne**

" _We drank a toast to innocence_

 _We drank a toast to now_

 _We tried to reach beyond the emptiness_

 _But neither one knew how"_

 _Same Old Lang Syne - Dan Fogelberg_

"Hey mate, any chance you only need one of those?"

Harry looked up from where he was weighing a tin in either hand and trying hard to remember which was the brand of cranberry sauce Molly had specifically asked for as she'd bundled him up and sent him out into the snow-covered Christmas Eve night. They wouldn't even be needing it until the following evening when they had the traditional, monstrous Christmas dinner Molly always cooked, but when he'd voiced as much all he'd gotten was a firm " _Don't sass me, young man, and tie your scarf before you leave,"_ a kiss on the cheek, and a woolen hat stuffed on his head. So, that was that. He was braving the market at nine o'clock at night on Christmas Eve with about a million other unlucky souls, most of which were men who he'd guess had been sent on similar hunts by their own mothers or wives.

"It's just," the man continued, "my wife asked me last week to pick up the cranberry sauce, and I completely forgot, so at this point I'm desperate. I don't even care which brand. My _mother-in-law_ will be in for tea tomorrow, and cranberry sauce is her favorite. I, of course, am not, and I'll be even less so if we don't have any, so…" He trailed off in his rambling, looking hopeful.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Harry said, sticking out a hand at random. Honestly, he was starting to think that neither of these last two tins of cranberry sauce were the requested brand, so anything would do.

The man smiled gratefully, gushed, "Thanks, mate, and happy Christmas!" and bustled off to the checkout line, his posture significantly more relaxed. Harry smiled to himself. If he had to be out and about on Christmas Eve instead of curled up by the fire with his best friends and a mug of hot chocolate, at least he could make someone happy. Even though he didn't actually do anything other than hand him a tin, but still, it was something.

With a content grin still on his face, Harry turned to make a quick lap of the store, thinking he could maybe find some of those mini pumpkin pasties he liked so much (and that Molly frowned upon - _"Honestly, Harry, store bought?"_ ) to munch on as he made his way back to the Burrow. A shock of platinum blonde hair had him stopping in his tracks, grin sliding from his face and tin tumbling from his grip with a muted thud. He stared at the back of the man's head as his heart hammered and his mind raced.

He should just turn the other way, check out, and leave. That's what he should do. That's what a sane person would do. It had been _three years_ since they'd spoken, for Merlin's sake. There was nothing left to say.

But it was Christmas, and just walking away as if the person who used to be the world to him wasn't stood within arms reach just seemed wrong. It wasn't even an option.

Harry took a deep breath and tentatively reached out, touching the sleeve of the other man's coat. The man turned to face him, face flitting almost immediately from annoyance to shock, grey eyes wide with surprise. "Oh," he breathed, just barely audible.

"Hello, Draco," Harry said in what he hoped came across as a supremely casual way. He thought he probably failed by a bit considering his heart was lodged in his throat and making everything come out all squeaky, but he'd tried, alright?

Draco quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral as he cleared his throat, and Harry felt a little pang as the all too familiar mask of indifference - so familiar, even after all these years - was slipped into place. "Potter," he said, and okay, the use of his surname kind of hurt. "What a surprise, seeing you here. How are you?" he asked formally.

Harry shifted a bit nervously on his feet. "Good, erm, good. I've been good. Everything is… good. And you?"

"Good," Draco replied smoothly.

Awkward silence took over for a moment, and no, that just wouldn't do. "Why the fuck are we being so formal?" Harry laughed, albeit a bit manically. "Jesus, happy Christmas, Draco. C'mere." He stepped forward with more confidence than he felt, wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulders and hugging him quickly before he lost his nerve. Draco stood frozen for a long moment, the muscles of his back tense under Harry's sweaty palms, and by the time he reacted and lifted his arms to reciprocate, Harry was already stepping back, cheeks flushed pink. He knocked backward into the shopping basket dangling in Draco's grip, and it fell to the linoleum with a clatter, pie crusts and apples crashing around them and rolling throughout the aisles.

"Shit, sorry!" Harry apologized. His face was absolutely flaming by now. "Here, lemme just-" he started as he bent to scoop up the items. Draco simply stood rigid in the same spot like a statue as Harry collected his groceries and deposited them back into the basket. He grasped the handle and stood slowly, holding it out for Draco to take. "There you go. Sorry about that," he said again, and yep, it was definitely getting awkward now, and he definitely should have just left and not talked to him, and he was definitely making a fool of himself, and Draco definitely did not want to see him, and-

"Walk with me," Draco said, and without waiting for a response, he made his way to the front of the store to the checkout line. Harry blinked after him for a beat before scrambling to catch up. Maybe it was a little pathetic how eagerly he jumped into action, how willing he was to do exactly what Draco asked of him, even after all this time, but he didn't care. His friends weren't around to judge him, and his ex lover knew all too well the power he'd always held over Harry, so fuck it. He'd take these few moments with him and deal with the consequences later.

He caught up with Draco as he was unloading his basket onto the belt. The apples were a little beat up and bruised from their tumble on the floor, but Draco either didn't notice or didn't care. The cashier, a teenage boy with greasy hair and the most prominent "I hate my job" expression on his face that Harry had ever seen, took his sweet time ringing up the items, which would have been no big deal for Harry usually, but with every passing second the uncomfortable tension grew, and he wanted nothing more than to get outside into the fresh air where maybe, just maybe, he'd feel like he could breathe.

Finally all the food was bagged, and Draco paid for his haul. He motioned for Harry to follow him as he made his way outside. The snow was still falling steadily, the air crisp and fresh, and Harry was right: he could breathe more easily out here. Draco stopped a little ways down from the entrance to the shop, and when he turned to face Harry, he was surprised to see cracks in that oh-so-carefully manufactured mask, hesitancy and uncertainty leaking through the seams.

"It's-" Draco started, his voice coming out thin and strained. He cleared his throat. "It's been a long time. Honestly, you're probably the last person I expected to see tonight. Perhaps… perhaps we could grab a quick drink and catch up? If you're not in too much of a hurry."

Harry knew he was trying to sound confident and unaffected, but he knew Draco too well. Time couldn't erase how familiar he'd once become with every expression, every tone that Draco possessed. He could hear the vulnerability and uncertainty in his voice, though he refused to let himself dwell on it and what it might mean. It had taken him nearly the entirety of the last three fucking years to finally snuff out the stubborn flames of hope that roared in his chest. That goddamn, boundless, optimistic hope that was at the core of who Harry was. That hope that had time and time again saved his life. That hope that could cause him unimaginable pain and heartache.

" _I'd love to, but I really need to be getting back. Maybe some other time."_ It's what he should say. Every self preservation instinct he possessed was fighting to push the words from his throat, to make his muscles move him in the other direction.

But Draco was standing in front of him after three years of _nothing_ , a beautiful red flush high up on the apples of his cheeks and snowflakes clinging to the tips of his silky hair and his translucent eyelashes and his fucking posh black coat. Draco was biting his thin bottom lip between his teeth unconsciously, his eyes growing wider and closer to alarmed by the second. Draco was asking for his company, if only for a handful of minutes, and Harry was powerless, so, so weak and powerless to refuse him anything.

"Sure," he found himself saying with very little surprise. "The Leaky is just around the corner. Shall we..?"

Relief washed over Draco's features, and it was like he didn't even try to hide it. Like he was willing to let Harry see who he was, what he was thinking, if only for that one moment. "Yes, please," he replied, motioning for Harry to lead the way. He fell into step alongside him with plenty of space between them to ensure their arms didn't graze as they walked, which Harry was both grateful for and put out by.

The walk to the Leaky Cauldron was silent, but not uncomfortably so, as it took less than two minutes. Draco reached for the door and held it open for Harry who ducked in with a small smile of thanks. The smile morphed into a frown when he took in his surroundings. The place was completely empty, save for a barmaid who was coaxing chairs on top of tables while a broom and dustpan whizzed around the floor. "Erm, excuse me," Harry called out.

The Christmas carol the young woman had been humming cut off as she looked up. "Oh, hullo!" she greeted cheerfully. "Sorry mates, pub's closed for the evenin'. Usually we're open 'til midnigh' on Christmas Eve, but ole Tom's gotten himself a date and decided to close up shop a wee bit early." She grinned widely like it was the best news she'd ever delivered.

Harry blinked a few times in surprise, images of hunchbacked, snaggle-toothed Tom chatting over Christmas wine with a faceless lady flooding his brain. It was definitely odd to picture, but it was nice. Very nice. Harry found himself being quite happy for the cantankerous old man. Everyone should have someone on Christmas. He tried not to let his thoughts turn too wistful at that.

"That's alright," Draco spoke from beside him. "Perhaps we could simply purchase a bottle of your best whiskey to go? Name your price." He looked and sounded polite but determined, and yes, quite charming in a not-trying-too-hard kind of way. He… well, he just looked like _Draco_ , Harry supposed. A man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. That is, until he changed his mind. Until he decided he didn't want it anymore…

But no, Harry was not letting his thoughts go there. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever again hopefully. He'd put it behind him. He'd moved on. He could do this. One night, one drink, one short, polite, trivial conversation. He was strong enough for this.

"Afraid the best we've got unopened is some Ogden's, love," the barmaid answered as she rummaged behind the bar, pulling Harry out of his own head. "Will that do?"

Draco nodded beside him as he dug in his pockets for a few coins. The barmaid regarded them thoughtfully for a moment, and just as Draco was pulling his hand from his pocket, she shook her head saying, "It's on the house."

Draco blinked a bit in surprise, and Harry found himself flushing slightly under the pretty lady's gaze that stated that she _knew_. She didn't know who or what they were to one another, of course, but Harry could see in her eyes that she knew this wasn't just two friends sharing a Christmas Eve drink, that there was something tense and unsettled around them, and perhaps she'd taken pity on them. He was only allowed a moment to dwell on this however before Draco was nodding his thanks and easing back toward the door. "We appreciate your kindness," he said. "Happy holidays."

"Merry Christmas, ma'am. And thanks a lot," Harry added.

The barmaid just smiled. "Merry Christmas, loves, and may your new year be full of new joy and wisdom and lacking past years' sorrows and mistakes!"

 _Well,_ that's _a loaded farewell_ , Harry thought. He shook his head slightly, focusing on the more pressing current issue. "So… where to now?" he asked.

Draco looked around thoughtfully for a moment before pointing across the street. "There's a park just over that hill with a little bench under an awning. We could just sit there for a bit, stay well enough out of the snow?" He sounded unsure again but definitely hopeful, so of course Harry easily agreed.

Again, the walk was silent but short, and before he knew it, Harry was perching beside his ex on a freezing metal bench in a children's park in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve while snow fell in curtains around them. Certainly not where he'd thought his night was headed just a half hour ago, but he'd take it in stride.

Draco broke the seal on the whiskey bottle and popped the top off. He looked around for a moment like he was trying to find something to transfigure into a couple of glasses, but Harry just rolled his eyes and took the bottle from his gloved hands, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep, burning swig. He wiped the back of his freezing hand across his mouth with a satisfied little hiss and tipped the bottle back toward Draco. Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the corner of the other man's mouth lift just the tiniest fraction before he wrapped his elegant fingers around the bottle's neck and took his own sip.

Draco eyed the rim of the bottle thoughtfully before diving back in for another swig. Harry smiled to himself and furiously began rubbing his own hands together, bringing them to his mouth and attempting to breathe some warmth back into them. Unlike Draco, he'd not been smart enough to wear his gloves, though to be fair he hadn't thought he'd be lounging outside this evening.

The two let the spirit settle for a moment in their stomachs. The silence was becoming heavy now, and Harry thought frantically for something to say. Something light and safe and bland that would fill the gaping hole where chatter should be.

So, naturally, he said the heaviest thing he possibly could have.

"I saw your wedding announcement in the _Prophet_."

 _What the fuck? What the actual fuck is wrong with me?_

Harry winced as Draco's brows drew tight together and his mouth set in a hard, thin line. His sharp jaw worked for just a moment before his face completely relaxed, eyes carefully blank. "Yes, Astoria's mother and mine wrote the piece. Two and a half years ago, when we were married and the article came out," he added, the ' _so why the fuck are you bringing up this old news now?_ ' left unspoken.

"Right," Harry said quietly. "Erm, the uh… The picture was lovely. She's a beautiful girl." Why couldn't he stop talking about her? Oh Merlin, make it stop…

Draco sighed heavily. "She's always been a pretty lady, as are all the women in her family, yes. And before you ask, she's well, I'm well, we are both happy with where we are in our relationship. Now can we please stop talking about it? Because as hard as we're both trying to pretend this is normal, it's actually awkward as fuck, Potter, and you know it."

Stormy grey eyes pleaded with Harry, and as the absurdity of the situation caught up with him, he couldn't help it: he burst into laughter. He brought both of his hands up to cover his mouth at Draco's unimpressed look, but it did nothing to stifle his hilarity. Harry could see the fight on Draco's face, the war within him to remain stoic and unfazed, and he also saw the moment he lost that battle. Draco's face split into a wide grin as he chuckled, shaking his head from side to side. His perfect teeth gleamed white and his stylishly cut hair swayed into his eyes. _God, I'd almost forgotten how beautiful he is._

"You're ridiculous," Draco murmured, but he was still smiling softly. "And here, for Merlin's sake, put these on before you lose a finger. The Wizarding world at large would certainly blame me if you were unable to compete properly due to loss of limb." He reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a spare pair of gloves. They were some sort of leather, probably dragon's hide, and felt like butter in Harry's hands.

"Thanks," he said. "Remind me to give them back to you when we, erm… When we go our separate ways later."

Draco simply waved him off carelessly. "So, how is it?" he asked.

Harry frowned in confusion. "The gloves?" he asked after a moment.

Draco snorted and said, "No, you tosser. Playing. Quidditch. Professionally," he elaborated slowly, teasingly, and wow, Harry had missed this side of him. This playful, carefree version of Draco that he sometimes wondered if he was the only person to have ever seen. Of course he wasn't; he was married now, and his wife probably was blessed with Draco's dry, sarcastic humor and playful wit all the time. Harry tried very hard not to be jealous of that. Harry also failed.

"Right, right. It's good." Draco raised a brow that clearly said he wasn't convinced. "No, really it is. Mostly." Harry sighed. "I love the game, and the fans are outstanding, but travelling all the time kind of sucks. It was exciting for a bit, but now… It just gets exhausting."

Draco nodded in understanding. "I, erm…" He cleared his throat. "I'd imagine it makes relationships a bit difficult, being away from your partner so often?" he asked carefully. That lovely pink tint was back on his cheeks, and he looked quite like he wished he could take the question back.

Harry blinked at him for a moment, heart beating a bit faster and a flush making its way onto his own face. _Is he fishing for information on my love life? Why does he even_ care _?_ Harry coughed uncomfortably before answering honestly. "I wouldn't know. Haven't been in a relationship since-" _Since you._ "In several years," he settled on.

Draco looked… relieved. He actually looked relieved at this information, and Harry was left more confused than ever. Should he be hurt? Did Draco just not want him to be happy? Was he just relieved because that meant they didn't have to have the whole _'who is he, what's he like'_ awkward conversation? Was he happy because that meant that Harry was single…?

No, no, no. He was not going there. He wasn't about to let that fire of hope ignite again. Draco was a married man. Hell, he probably was going to be a dad eventually. The thought made Harry's stomach twist. So, no. There was no hope to be had. He'd do good to remember that so he could pull himself out of the bed in the morning when all he was left with once again was the memory of Draco's smile and voice and smell.

"As for my friendships," Harry said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, "those are hanging on. I don't think anything could actually tear me away from Ron and Hermione, or the rest of the Weasleys for that matter."

Draco smirked, but there was no malice behind it. "So did those two ever marry then?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and reached for the bottle that had nearly been forgotten, taking another swig before he answered. "Nah, they want to wait a bit longer. They got a flat together a year and a half ago, and that's been going really well. They're happier than ever. Just want to live together for a while before tying the knot. Drives Molly crazy," he grinned.

Draco laughed lightly. He took the bottle Harry passed back to him and took three long pulls, then his face lit up. "Oh!" he exclaimed, thrusting the bottle in Harry's lap who just laughed and sipped, intensely relieved by the comfortable banter they were falling into. "Could you believe it about Longbottom and Parkinson? I swear to Salazar, I thought she was pulling some prank when she told me. It took some, uh, drastic measures to convince me actually."

Harry laughed at the way Draco's face scrunched up in a cringe. "What kind of measures?"

Draco shot him a dark look. "Those two are kinky as fuck, Potter. Do you know what a mobile is?" Harry nodded. "Apparently Pansy has to have one for her job - she works at the Muggle liaison office, which I'm sure you know since Granger does as well - and apparently these things can record videos. Like, hours worth of videos. And… let's just say twenty seconds was all it took to convince me." He shuddered and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

Harry barked out a loud laugh at the look on Draco's face. "Oh! Oh my God! No! No, tell me she didn't!" he roared. Tears were rolling down his face and he was clutching his aching sides as he doubled over, shaking with his laughter.

Draco, clearly delighted by Harry's reaction, let out a loud laugh of his own. "She did! It was awful. And then the bitch expected me to sit through dinner with them two nights later! I was humiliated. Thank God she didn't seem to have told Longbottom what had happened. He looked more confused by my inability to look him in the eye than horrified. Otherwise, I don't think either of us would have survived it."

After that, conversation flowed as freely as the whiskey that they were quickly decimating. Draco told him a few hilarious stories about his adventures at his job. He worked as a representative for international affairs for Gringotts, and it often left him in some sticky and questionable situations involving his goblin colleagues.

Harry knew Draco loved his work and was thankful for the position he'd been able to secure. His father, of course, would have preferred for him to work for the Ministry directly, but as he was currently in Azkaban for the next 15 or so years, he really didn't have much say in the matter. Harry figured the man was probably just relieved that his only son had evaded prison time and was holding a "respectable" position in a wealthy market.

The truth was, no matter Lucius Malfoy's many, many faults, Draco would always on some level want his approval. Possibly more than anything else. It was why he'd married Astoria, after all.

Draco had loved Harry. He knew that. Even though the other man had never said the words out loud, Harry knew and had never doubted it. He'd suspected sometime after the first month they'd spent seeking one another out in the middle of the night during 6th year, at first for a fight but so quickly for something even better, something more, something they'd been leading to since meeting one another. He'd thought he might feel the same about Draco, as little sense as it made.

When Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been held captive at Malfoy Manor and he'd seen the absolute terror in his grey eyes, and when Draco had reached his hand out toward Harry as if he wanted to join him as Dobby had disappeared with them, Harry had known without a doubt.

By some miracle they'd both survived the war, and they'd had nearly a year secluded away from everyone else, content in their private bubble when Harry wasn't out doing his public figure duties. Trying through touch more than words to heal the wounds they both harbored inside them.

But after Lucius' sentencing, the fear and pressure to rebuild his and his mother's lives had fallen solely on Draco, and he'd had to make a decision.

Harry knew in his heart he'd made the wrong one, but what was done was done. Harry wasn't going to spend these precious minutes dwelling in the past. He re-focused his attention on Draco's story.

"So Geengling glared at me in total alarm for about five minutes while Weasley finished up the paperwork he needed," Draco was saying through his laughter. "I turned to Bill as soon as the goblin had left and asked what the fuck all that was about. He said, 'You really need to work on your Gobbledegook, Malfoy. What were you trying to say?' I told him I'd meant to say that it had been a pleasure to meet him, and Weasley laughed so hard I thought he was going to pass out. Apparently I'd said I wanted to _pleasure_ him."

Harry laughed until he was nearly wheezing, and Draco seemed just as amused at his own misfortune. Eventually they began to settle down, and a contented, happy hush filled the night air. The whiskey was long gone, but its warmth remained in Harry's veins. Or perhaps it was Draco's warmth, he noticed with a start, because somehow over the last hour they'd ended up pressed flush to one another's sides on the bench. The realization sobered him somewhat, and he asked before he could stop himself, "Are you happy, Draco?"

Draco's smile settled into something more serious. His beautiful, captivating eyes searched Harry's, and he was quiet for so long that Harry thought he'd decided not to answer. "I am," he finally said softly. His eyes were guarded and thoughtful, but all Harry could hear in his voice was honesty.

Harry had to swallow three times around the lump in his throat before he responded. "I'm glad," he choked out. "All I ever wanted was for you to be happy." The words were nearly impossible to get out, but they were the truth and Draco deserved them.

The other man abruptly took a breath and opened his mouth to speak before snapping it closed again. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, staring at Harry like he was trying to decide on something. Harry held his breath as his pulse quickened, though he didn't quite know why. Draco's mouth trembled open once more on an inhale just as somewhere in the distance, a clock struck midnight.

Harry started and turned toward the sound for only a split second, but when he turned back the moment had passed. Draco once again looked like his cool, calm, and collected self, and he rose slowly from the bench, dusting a few stray snowflakes that had snuck their way underneath the awning from his trouser legs.

Beside him, Harry pulled himself shakily to his feet, his arms dangling limply at his side. This was it. His time was up. It was time to let Draco go again. He didn't know if he could bear it.

 _He's happy_ , he told himself. _He said he's happy, and that's all that matters. That's enough. It'll always have to be enough._

"Well," Draco said after a moment. "It's been lovely being able to catch up. Thank you for the pleasure of your company tonight. I'm… I'm truly very glad I ran into you," he added after a moment, and it sounded so sincere that something in Harry's mangled heart twisted.

"Me too," Harry said, and the two words felt much heavier, much more honest than two simple syllables should. He stuck his hand out to shake Draco's. When he noticed the borrowed gloves he still wore, he made to remove them.

"No, keep them," Draco said quickly. "It's a good walk from here to your nearest Floo point." Harry started to protest, but Draco cut him off. "I have about a hundred pair. Honestly, it's fine. I insist." He smiled wryly. "Call it your Christmas gift."

Harry smiled back sadly. "But I didn't get you anything," he pointed out.

"Sure you did." Draco held up the empty bottle of Ogden's. "Let's be honest. The only reason we got this for free is because you're Harry 'The Saviour' Potter. So technically, you got this for us." He grinned at Harry, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Harry simply conceded with a nod. "Thank you." The two stared at one another for a moment, memories and words both spoken and unsaid swirling like the snowflakes around them. "Happy Christmas, Draco," he said softly. He made to reach out once again, intending to shake his hand, but Draco stepped quickly into his space and pulled him into a loose hug.

Unlike Draco had earlier, Harry responded instantly, wrapping his arms maybe a little too tightly, too intimately around Draco's waist. He closed his eyes against the stinging in them and inhaled deeply, trying to ensure he'd remember the scent he'd never actually forgotten, trying to burn the feel of Draco's hands on his back into his brain the same way they were burning into his skin.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Draco finally murmured. He pulled back slowly and gently from the embrace, and Harry thought he felt cold lips ghost over his temple for a fraction of a second before they parted completely. Draco regarded him for another long moment before he turned his back and walked away.

Harry stared at the retreating figure until he was completely out of sight, and then he turned in the opposite direction to make his way back to the Burrow. The walk toward the Floo point was nothing but a blur. It could have been minutes or hours later, he honestly didn't know, when he looked up and realized he'd long since passed the Floo station and was instead well outside of the anti-Apparition boundaries of Diagon Alley. Harry shook his head at himself. He was simultaneously numb and in emotional overdrive, and he had no idea how he was supposed to begin to get himself back on an even plane. He took a deep breath, willing himself to concentrate so as not to splinch himself, and Disapparated with a pop.

Harry rematerialized right outside of the Weasley's garden fence, and he unlatched the gate with fingers that were numb despite the well insulated gloves he still had on. He walked up the path in a daze and found himself just staring inside the house. Ron and Hermione were curled together on several oversized, fluffy pillows in front of the fire and buried underneath a mountain of knitted blankets, glasses of wine and plates of cheeses spread out in front of them. They'd obviously been waiting up for Harry to return but had succumbed to exhaustion where they sat.

It was then that Harry remembered what he'd left the house for in the first place. The cranberry sauce. He'd never even gotten the cranberry sauce.

He looked up to the night sky, blinking rapidly. As the first tears fell down his cheeks, the snow turned into rain.


	4. The First Day of Christmas

They said Christmas was the most magical time of year and Hermione Granger would never be one to disagree. She lived for Christmas time. To see the first snow fall, the trees and lights, the festive cheer that people were always so full of. Christmas had always been such a big affair at home growing up, this wasn't going to change now.

After the war had ended her parents had been unretrievable, the memory charm she had put on them was placed just a little too far in the wrong part of the brain and now they would never recognise her voice again or smile when they saw her face. _At least they were still alive_ , Hermione had to tell herself over and over again.

Hermione had gone back to school after the war had ended and Hogwarts opened back up for business, they all had. Well, those who had survived anyway. It seemed to be an unwritten rule that the entire year group would return and so they did. If one year of belated childhood mischief was all they could get then it was better than nothing. The alternative was to find work and places to live as soon as the war was over and honestly, fully grown adults or not they still felt like children for the most part.

Hermione had been the one to receive the head girl badge of course, nothing that nobody hadn't already bet every spare galleon on. The head boy badge had gone to Theodore Nott and the pair were set to share quarters.

School had started off pretty well but the pair seemed to rub one another the wrong way far more often than necessary. Everyone else were betting it was done on purpose. Hermione would scowl at them and curse them up and down and Theo would just stare intently at the witch.

Everyone else had been right of course, they had finally gotten their acts together at their graduation party when Firewhiskey was in abundance and minds inebriated. They woke up the next morning in the same bed and hadn't looked back since.

Hermione had moved in with Harry right out of school, Grimmauld Place hadn't changed much but they and their friends tried to give the ancient house a makeover in the short burst of time Hermione lived there for. Theo was almost begging her to move in with him when he realised after spending the last year living with the witch he was lost without her. It had only been three months by that point but Hermione reasoned it wouldn't be any different than being in school and besides, she was hardly coming home to sleep by that point.

And now here they were three months down the line on December 13th and Hermione was actually bouncing on her toes at seven in the morning, a flask of hot chocolate in one hand and wrapped up head to toe.

"Remind me love, why did you have me take today off only to wake me up at an ungodly hour?" Theo groaned as he pulled his coat from the stand. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Hermione's feet. Her usual sturdy brown winter boots that she _loved_ were nowhere in sight and instead there seemed to be some sort of bright yellow rubber things that stopped just below her knees. That certainly woke him up. "What the fuck are you wearing? Are you planning on getting lost today or something?" He asked honestly. He had never seen a more ugly pair of shoes in his life.

Hermione levelled a stare at her boyfriend,"they're my wellie boots," she replied indignantly.

"They're hideous Hermione,"

"I'm glad you like them so much because I bought you a matching pair and if we're going to pick out a Christmas tree today - which we are," she said as she stared just a fraction harder "-then you're going to need wellie boots." Hermione pointed out.

"Why on earth do we need a tree?" Theo asked, brows knit in confusion.

"Because it's Christmas!" Hermione almost shriked.

"There's a tree in the loft," Theo countered back.

Hermione gaped at him, "what?" She asked. "You're seriously suggesting we use a decades old artificial tree? A tree with bare branches, no pine cones, a tree without - Godric-fucking-Gryffindor what have I gotten myself into? We're getting a real tree, get your boots on.

That was be the moment Theo would remember as Hermione near hyperventilating. The idea of a old artificial tree not a welcome one in her eyes.

He really wasn't happy to be wearing rubber on his feet and hoped to Merlin he didn't see anyone he knew because he knew he wouldn't live this down but at least his were not a sunflower yellow and more of a hunters green, not that it mattered of course since they were rubber and _squeaked_ when he walked. If he didn't die before the day was over it would be a Christmas miracle.

They must have trawled through five tree stores looking for 'the one' when Theo was starting to lose his patience. The hot chocolate had long gone and he was hungry now. All the trees were too small, too bare, too thin. He had no idea what she was looking for but no matter what he suggested the answer was no. Two more farms they went to before they found what they were looking for. A twelve foot fucking monstrosity. She couldn't be serious? Oh but she was. She happily paid up the sum asked and a little extra on top for delivery that day and Theo didn't want to be the one to piss all over her Christmas cornflakes but the Christmas nonsense was getting ridiculous now. And he was still wearing rubber fucking boots. And she had been bloody right about them because half of his legs were covered in mud but he would _never_ admit it to her.

He had hoped they might be done for the day after that, get home early enough to burn the mud covered rubber _things_ that she called shoes and soak in a bath together and try to forget about his painful distress caused which was the least she could do but oh no, today wasn't over by far.

Hermione decided they needed a new ornament set. A what? Couldn't they just get some Cornish Pixies and a few sticking charms or something? But no, they were doing this the muggle way apparently. Still wearing their rubber boots.

Hermione took them into muggle London and they stopped at a store where she told him to pick ten Christmas ornaments for the tree. And she ordered him to _really_ pick them and not just pluck up the first things he saw. Theo rolled his eyes and got to work, he even matched his to the colour scheme of the ones in her basket. He felt proud of himself for that. Hermione added a few extra things to their baskets, coloured lights, ribbon and an angel that actually looked rather frightening but Theo decided he had to let slide for the sake of his own life. Hermione declared they needed a couple more departments before leaving and then filled them up with enough crafting supplies that would keep a school going for a month. After that she headed for the clothing section which was odd in itself since she wouldn't normally shop in places like this.

Theo thought he had been the dutiful boyfriend, he had only complained about the tree and the boots a little but when Hermione actually purchased them each Christmas jumpers he seriously thought she had lost the plot. She must have if she thought she was getting him to wear that. It had fucking _lights_ on it for Merlin's sake. He was itching under his expensive cashmere just thinking about it.

Laden with bags and knowing the elves would surely have had their hands full trying to ready the tree the pair stopped for a Chinese takeaway on the way home before apparating into the Manor.

If Theo thought he was now free to get that bath he had dreaming about for the past five hours then he was sorely mistaken though he did get to finally take off his boots only to replace them with hideous slippers that had actual reindeer heads on top. He couldn't wait for Christmas to be over with.

They ate their food and drank copious amounts of mulled wine as Hermione chatted animatedly about Christmas. He could tell it was her favourite time of year and so decided to try a little bit harder.

"What traditions did your family have?" she asked excitedly.

Theo looked at the witch then down to his drink, which he had to admit was a welcome relief after walking in the cold all day. "Try not to get cursed before breakfast," he answered honestly.

Hermione reached across the space that divided them and took his hand in hers. "I'm going to make this your best Christmas yet." she promised.

Once they were done with their food Hermione decided they just _had_ to put their jumpers on much to Theo's chagrin, and with the tree up thanks to the elves they finally got to work wrapping the lights around it. Since Hermione had saw fit to purchase a twelve foot tree they had needed a ladder to get to the top half. With the lights finally in place they began to add their decorations, though even with the bows and pinecones the tree was looking slightly bare.

"Hermione?" Theo called as he placed the last of his ornaments on a branch.

"The tree looks...empty," he said as he stared up at their handiwork.

"I know," Hermione replied with a smile.

It was clear Theo didn't understand.

"As per tradition you start off with ten baubles, five each. And then every year each member of the house adds one of their choosing. That's how you grow your set. We got more because the tree is bigger."

"Oh," Theo replied as he looked up, "that makes sense." Because for the first time today he could see her logic. He picked up the angel and didn't even grimace at its sadistic smile, "here you go, time to light it up" He said as he passed the tree topper to the witch.

"No, I want to watch you do it," Hermione insisted.

Theo thought she just didn't want to get up the old ladders again though he couldn't blame her but she watched intently as he placed the terrifying thing on the top of their tree. "Lights?" He asked as he climbed back down, ready to push the plug in. From under the tree he saw Hermione nod at him that yes, he should light up the tree and he watched her face as he pushed the plug and he saw the wonderment and pure joy she felt. He couldn't help but get to his feet and hold her in his arms.

Hermione held onto Theo tightly as they swayed near the tree. The room was a mess, there were boxes and wrappers everywhere and it looked like Christmas had literally thrown up all over them but the tree was magnificent and it was all Hermione's doing. Theo had never seen such a pretty display in his house before.

"What's the paper and card for?" He almost whispered in her ear as he spotted the bag on the ground.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Children, umm traditionally children would make their own decorations and cards and things and you would hang them or put them on the tree, whatever really. I was going to have a go but maybe another day." She felt him pull her closer.

"You ever think about having children?" He asked.

Hermione nodded slowly, "I have done. Being an only child with no family kind of forces you to think about these things."

"I know what you mean," Theo replied, because he did know. He was in the same boat afterall.

"So what would you like? If you could choose?" His words were a gentle caress across her ear and she shivered as his breath travelled down her neck.

Hermione struggled to get her words out, "Three, maybe four. More than two at least. Close in age. I don't want my children to end up alone if I died or something happened to me. What about you?"

Theo hadn't been lying when he said he had thought about having children because he had but her talk of dying had thrown him, he gripped her tighter, pulled her closer and breathed in her scent. "As long as it's more than one," he admitted. That's who they were, two lonely people fighting their recent orphanage.

"More than one," she repeated.

Theo smirked and twirled the witch in his arms, "I'll tell you what love, I'll let you have as many as you want under one condition." He smiled at the witch as he watched her closely.

"And what's that?" Hermione laughed back.

"Marry me first?" Theo asked.

Hermione wasn't sure she heard him right. She stopped in her tracks as she replayed the conversation over again and then when she looked back to him he was down on one knee with a box in his hand and a ring sat there with the most beautiful blue stone she had ever seen. "Oh. My. God." She clasped her hands to her mouth and tears threatened to escape as she stared at him.

"Well?" He asked, still waiting for an answer.

"Yes. Yes, of course I'll marry you you idiot!" She screamed at him.

She watched him stand then, his face relaxing as he must have worried about her answer and before she knew it he had her swept up in his arms and his lips were on hers. "I love you" he murmured over and over again.

I can't believe you proposed wearing a Christmas jumper and reindeer slippers," Hermione laughed as he slipped the ring on her finger.

"If you tell anyone the deals off," he quipped back but they were both laughing and kissing one another and before he knew it he had her in the bath just as he had envisioned all day. Hot and naked, bubbles strategically placed and a bottle of champagne to share while her feet rubbed up his thigh, a smile a mile wide on her lips and a beautiful sapphire sparkling at him.

He supposed Christmas wasn't so bad afterall.


	5. Wherefore Art Thou, Romeo?

It had been a full month since Harry Potter caught Draco Malfoy on the 7th floor, pacing across the hall where the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy resided. He had prepared himself for a duel but shouting and spells being thrown somehow turned into snogging and skin—so much skin. He remembered every detail of it.

" _What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry had spat at the blonde wizard. Draco jumped and looked over to greet the Boy Who Lived with a deathly glare of his own._

" _None of your damn business, Potter," Malfoy said._

 _Harry growled, "What, you've grown soft now that you don't have your minions around to throw punches for you?"_

 _Malfoy flicked his wrist and threw a stunning spell toward Potter just as the Room of Requirement was opening to his wishes—opening to reveal the Room of Hidden Things. Harry narrowly dodged the spell and sprinted toward the door to slide in after Draco before he could be shut out. He had his wand up and was staring into the hard, grey eyes in front of him with disdain. "If you think you can get past me to whatever dodgy business you're up to, you can think again. I heard you and your friends talking on the train before term started and I know it was you that put Katie Bell in the hospital wing."_

 _Draco's eyes softened for just a moment. Instead of answering he shot a jinx at his long time rival. Harry dodged it and threw another jinx back toward him. The duel went on for several rounds before the Chosen One knocked the Slytherin Prince on his arse. "You ready to talk, mate?"_

 _Draco glared at him for what seemed like hours until, finally, he got to his feet and closed the distance between the two, crushing his lips to Potter's._

 _Harry pushed him away quickly. "What the fuck was that?" he asked, wiping his mouth. His wand was pointed at the blonde again, but not for long._

"Expelliarmus _," Draco muttered before going in again to kiss the boy he had hated for years—or_ thought _he hated. Harry didn't stop him again. His brain was telling him to stop. But he didn't. He kissed the wretched arsehole back._

 _Harry's heart beat heavily in his chest as he felt his lips part and Draco's eager tongue entered. The sensation sent a chill down his spine and a moan involuntarily left his mouth. He could feel Draco smirking against his mouth, the arrogant git._

 _Soon, Harry could feel a tightness in his own trousers. He could feel the tightness in Draco's pressed against his thigh. Subconsciously, he moved his hands to Draco's waist to free his thick length from his trousers and—_

"Oi. Harry, wake up!" Ron's voice startled Harry and forced him to wake from his dream. Once again, he woke up having to hide his erection from his dreams of the night he and Draco…

He wasn't even sure how it had all started. He was sure the tension they built over the years was pure hatred not... _that_. Nevertheless, Harry knew he wanted more. The worst part? On one piece of wonderfully milky white skin was the mark of Lord Voldemort. Draco Malfoy was a bloody death eater.

"What the fuck do you want, Ron? I'm trying to sleep," Harry grumbled, trying to pull the comforter over his head and go back to the dream he knew he shouldn't be so eager to see again.

"It's Christmas morning, you git," Ron said, hitting his best friend over the head. "Get up. You have presents!"

Harry's eyes shot open. Christmas morning. How could he have forgotten? He sat up in bed, willing his mind to forget about his dream and think of Aunt Marge in too-small lingerie instead to force his erection to disappear. He grabbed the presents that lay in a small, neat pile at the end of his bed and opened the one he knew was from Mrs. Weasley.

"Another sweater," he said with a grin towards Ron, who was opening his own Weasley sweater. "Don't let me forget to send your mum a 'thank you' owl this year, Won Won."

"Very funny," Ron glared at him before returning to his own pile of wrapping and gifts.

There was the other usual gifts from people: practical study items from Hermione, some Quidditch trading cards from Ron, and something else…

There was a large box that had no label on it at all. Harry pulled the wrapping off and looked inside to see a plethora of sweets, some homemade and some from Honeyduke's. There was a small note sitting on top of the pile of sweets.

 _Meet me at RoR tonight. 11pm._

 _-DM_

There was only one person DM could stand for…

XXXXXXXXXX

Later that night, Harry snuck out of Gryffindor tower and made his way to the 7th floor corridor where the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry was. He was the first one there and sat on the floor in front of the tapestry. Why had he come in the first place? And why would Malfoy even want to talk to him? They'd barely looked in the other's direction for a month. This whole setup was probably a trap to get Harry in detention anyway. He pulled out his map to check it just in case. Seeing that no teacher or prefect was around and Malfoy was just coming up the stairs into the corridor, the dark haired wizard quickly closed the map and put it away. He was just in time as his blonde counterpart came into view.

"Potter," the Slytherin prince said in greeting with a curt nod of his head.

"Malfoy," Harry said back. "What did you want to meet me for? We haven't spoken since—"

"Shh," Malfoy said rather loudly and looked around before lowering his voice to a whisper. "Not here, you git." He walked back and forth in front of the Banabas tapestry three times and, when the door appeared, nodded his head toward it before slipping inside. Harry followed silently.

"I wanted to talk to you about—Er—that night…" Draco said, unable to look the other boy in the eyes. Those beautiful, green eyes…

"Listen, we don't have to if you don't want to. It was bloody weird, wasn't it? We hate each other," said Harry, rather awkwardly. "We've always hated each other, right? Maybe someone slipped some sort of potion in our pumpkin juice at dinner as a prank…"

"Potter." Draco said. He glanced at the other wizard and sighed. "It wasn't a potion. We obviously don't… Hate each other… I just… I…" He groaned and dragged his hand down his long, pale face. This wasn't easy to talk about.

"I haven't been able to… To forget about it. You know?"

Harry stared at the Death Eater in front of him intently. Death Eater. Draco Malfoy was a fucking Death Eater.

"I don't fucking care Malfoy. It was a mistake," he said angrily, his famous Potter temper getting the best of him, once again. "Do you realize who I am? I'm the sworn bloody enemy of Lord Voldemort. And you are? You're a fucking Death Eater. You _belong to him_. Like a pet."

"Don't you fucking talk to me like that," Draco said with a melodramatic scoff. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough to know I want nothing to do with you," Harry shouted, "You're a fucking Death Eater."

"Yeah you said that already," Draco shouted back. There was fire in his grey orbs and it set something off in Harry. The boy who lived scoffed just as Draco had and leaned in to kiss the idiot Death Eater.

"I can't get you out of my head," Harry said in a much softer tone when he pulled away from the kiss. "But you're…"

"A fucking Death Eater. I got that part," Draco said with an eye roll and they both laughed. "Maybe I don't have to be… Maybe… Maybe I joined the wrong side…"

"Maybe I can help you."

"I doubt that, Potter," the Slytherin Prince sneered. "But maybe it wouldn't hurt to try."

The two day in silence for what seemed like ages. Neither knew what to say.

"So I'm guessing you don't hate me?" Harry asked.

Draco burst out laughing. It was the most musical sound and the most unlikely sound to ever come from Draco Malfoy's vocal chords.

"I guess I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you either."

There was more silence before the two started snogging once again. Snogging turned into groping, panting, shagging, fucking. All Harry could think about was how amazing it felt to watch that head of stupid, perfect hair suck his cock so freely.

After each of them had climaxed, they lay on the floor, catching their breath. Until finally, Malfoy spoke. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," Harry responded," Are we a… a couple or something?"

"Hell no," Draco said with a chuckle.

"Just fucking then?" Harry asked again.

"Just fucking."

"You're still an arsehole, Malfoy."

"You're still a blithering idiot, Potter."

The two of them chuckled and somehow they both knew, hoped, and worried, that "just fucking" was going to turn into so much more and cause so many more problems...


	6. Tainted Crimson

The world sees everything in color, even I see some form of technicolor over the holidays. One of the few times the world and I are synced. Though, Christmas is here and I can barely stomach it. There is red and green plastered everywhere, and the knot in my stomach tightens profoundly at every small glance of such pigments. A shining glimmer of silver bells and gold trinkets laid bare to the public for view or greedy consumption.

I love these colors and hate them near simultaneously.

Red, a color that dyes the infuriating and loathsome fat man in his stupid suit who always gave my sisters something and I nothing. I try my best to behave, and yet no one cares. I'm constantly overshadowed unless I step out of the pre-drawn line. A year's work of goodness, erased by a small incident big enough to condemn me.

But oh, how their blood splattered so artistically against the alabaster snow. The scarlet blood dripped, weaved into the frozen crystals, and melted against the white.

Or the blistering, festering red I see when father belittles me, calls me his bane, and throws me to the wolves for things he did and had nothing to do with me. The red I see when I receive the punishments for things out of my control, or when I have to step in because Andromeda has no balance and broke a family heirloom, _again_. Everyone sees red in the world at some point, but my world is often tinted crimson.

Then there is the green sprouting from the macabre tar-ish seeds of my family. How could I hate green? It's the color of my house, my lineage. It's Slytherin and the taste of peppermint gliding across my tongue with sweets and drinks, but that ugly tree my family erects in the manor is this deep verdant. It's not the proper green. It's nothing like the woods that surround the home, that I can play in, and escape the orderly noble law of Black Manor. That tree is wrong in its portrayal of pine as it is the artificial insult to what a tree is, alive and chaotic in nature.

Next is silver: the color of Narcissa's hair fighting against a winter breeze, mother's stare out a frosty window or to one of her own. It's the jewelry I always end up having to adjust on all three of us daughters before a gathering. The world sees us all as the poise and perfect regal teens, but we all are a mess under our masquerade. Silver is the color of the ornaments hung around the manor, glinting like stars in the fading light, or the mask I wear to mother's parties.

Too many gold drinks at her holiday balls is why I ended up snogging Rodolphus Lestrange in the hallway, away from incorrect chaos. There was too much gold at the parties, even if not physically present. Everyone walked as if they owned the world with all their money in the bank, and flaunted it. The cacophony of meaningless chatter echoes and bends to the ear of any and all guests dripping in auric metal.

Gold is the metallic hue of my new engagement ring, and I swear the metal burns at my flesh worse day by day.

It was the holidays, yet I never had the joyful cheer that others felt cloud my mind as it did to so many. I saw the colors, heard the annoying songs, even tried to be good of heart. Never did the thought of the holidays give me a sense of pleasure.

There is an ache where I should've felt happy. I'd rather cut out my heart as the beating, breaking pain violently pumping in my veins was too intense. The color red was just too dominant in my world, and so I really wished I stayed at Hogwarts for the break.


	7. Mischief Managed

"Happy Christmas, George!"

"Happy Christmas, Fred!"

They smiled brightly at each other as they sat up in bed. The pair stretched and looked around the room, the sun wasn't up yet, but a small fire roared to life as they began moving about, and there was a small pile of gifts at the foot of each bed. They eagerly crawled to the end of their bed, then, after a quick inspection, they hopped onto one another's bed with a chuckle. The twins weren't quite sure if the house elves just couldn't tell them apart, or if they were getting them back for all the dungbombs the pair had set off in the kitchen. After settling down in front of the _correct_ pile of presents, they started opening the parcels.

"Oh look, a jumper." said George, fondly remembering their Christmases at the burrow.

"Fancy that" replied Fred, sarcastically. He looked up and, with a sly grin, snatched the jumper his brother was holding. Stuffing himself into the lumpy handmade garment, a large "G" now sat on his chest. A smile crept across George's face, his brother was up to something, and that usually meant trouble.

"We had no idea you were so attached to those trees!" mocked Fred. He and George sat on the bench outside Filch's office, trying not to laugh. They had spent much of the day setting off dung bombs all over the castle. They did fantastic at not getting caught until Filch found them setting a particularly nasty one off in one of the castle's many magnificent Christmas trees. Before Filch could formulate a reply, however, there was a scream from down the hall. The old caretaker's head whipped around in the direction of the outburst, while the two ginger wizards turned to each other and shared a look of excitement and curiosity.

A small group of Ravenclaws came darting around the corner, letting out a few more shrieks as a familiar cackle rang out. A large red orb went sailing over one boy's head, it shattered in a brilliant explosion of glass as it hit the stone wall.

" _Ding dong! Ding dong! Ring the Hogwarts bell,"_ sang Peeves as he soared around the corner a handful of colorful glass decorations in his hands. When he saw Filch standing there, his eyes lit up.

" _DING! DONG! DING! DONG!_ " He screeched, punctuating each word by hurling an ornament at Filch's head. He winked at the trouble making twins, causing them to burst into a fit of giggles, angering Filch all the more.

Dodging the baubles as best he could, the old Squib grabbed the boys painfully by the ears and yanked them into is office.

"Sit down. Shut up. Don't move. I'll deal with you two in a minute," sputtered Filch before slamming the door. A muffled yelling was heard as he chased after the cackling poltergeist. As soon as it was quiet, Fred stood up and immediately started rifling through papers on the desk in front of him.

"Between him and Mum, I sometimes wish I didn't have ears." George muttered as he rubbed his left ear in disdain. "Anything good?" he added.

"Just a bunch of detention slips, mostly ours" chuckled Fred, as he moved onto the drawers, glancing up as his brother locked the door, and pushed a filing cabinet in front of it. With one final shove, the cabinet hit the doorknob with a bang, both boys froze, listening to the hall and hoping they weren't caught. One of the drawers slowly rolled out in the silence, two sets of nearly identical eyes darted towards it and the words _"CONFISCATED and HIGHLY DANGEROUS_ " in scratchy handwriting instantly caught their attention. Abandoning the drawer he was in, Fred sprinted across the office stopping in front of the drawer.

"Wicked," they breathed in unison. With a chuckle, they both reached for the drawer, a sound in the hall startled them. They quickly, and without thought, threw open the box and started shoving its contents, into the pockets of their jeans. As the sound in the hall grew louder George shoved the cabinet back into its place and pulled out another dungbomb, while Fred quickly returned the things onto the desk as best he could. Which, after years of practise snooping in Charlie and Bill's rooms, he was pretty good at. Quickly George dropped the bomb, just as a sweaty and angry Filch opened the door.

"3 WEEKS OF DETENTION!" Huffed George, flopping onto his bed with a sigh.

"That's the best yet!" exclaimed Fred, as he sat down beside his brother. George rolled his eyes and laughed, he rolled onto his belly and was promptly stabbed in the leg by something sharp. He was quickly, and painfully, reminded of all the things they had gathered from Filch's file cabinet.

"Oy, what 'chu think this rubbish is?" the ginger boy asked, as he started pulling fistfuls of paper and odd trinkets out of his pockets.

They quickly recognized some Muggle firecrackers, very similar to some they had pinched off their Dad's desk at the ministry. A few of the papers looked to have jinxes and they quickly stashed those in their trunk for another day.

"This is just a detention slip!" exclaimed a very disappointed Fred, as he flattened out a particularly crumpled page. Looking up from the badge in his hand—apparently "Tom" was Head Boy and apparently that was dangerous—George chuckled a bit.

"I have a few of those too," he replied, gesturing to a discarded pile of parchment. His brother picked them up and started reading them aloud.

"Peter, James, Siri- OW!" he yelped, as he tossed the pile down and looked at his fingers. "The damned things burned me!" he started, in surprise. George laughed loudly.

"What? These musty old things?" he mocked, retrieving one from the bed where they had landed. "6 weeks detention for improper use of - Hey! Bloody hell!" tossing the offending paper just as his sibling had moments before. They both stared in astonishment for a moment, then glanced at each other angrily.

"What a load of bollocks this mess is!" Fred grumbled as he quickly piled everything into a box. _"Highly Dangerous,_ my arse," he continued

"What 'chu going to do with it?" asked Fred

"Here, pass me that bit of parchment, what is it?" George replied, ignoring the question his brother asked. "It's blank?" he wondered, as he opened up the neatly folded yellowed page. After making a disgusted face he tossed it on top of the rest of the mess. He moved around, gather a few more bits and bobs, angrily tossing them in the pile.

Once he was satisfied with the collection, he pulled a small jar containing a blue flame out of a pocket in his clock, as he took out the stopper, a flash of light caught George's eye. "It burned us, we burn it. Seems fair," he announced, matter of factly, as he dumped the small blue flame into the box. The papers quickly caught and the flame swelled, as George looked on he remembered the headboy pin that had stabbed him. He quickly retrieved it and tossed it into the flames with a chuckle. As he did so, something caught his eye. He looked on and watched the words _"OY, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"_ slowly appear on the large piece of parchment.

"Fred! Fred, do you see that?"

"See what, Georgie? A burning pile of junk? Yeah I helped make it," Fred replied, mocking the other wizard.

"No, arsehole," He pushed past the other Weasley boy. "The parchment! Words just… Appeared on it."

Fred turned to see his brother reaching into the fire and grabbing the paper, burning himself in the process.

"Bloody hell, George! It's a bit of rubbish!"

Before George could respond more words started to appear:

" _Speak for yourself mate!"_ and directly beneath that the words _"Yah, who are you calling rubbish, you plug-ugly git."_

George read the insult out loud and started laughing hysterically. "I think you pissed off the rubbish, mate."

" _You do realize you're identical twins? That means you're a plug-ugly git, too."_

" _Prongs, I reckon he's the uglier twin, yeah? Just look at him. Manky looking knob, that one is."_

" _Right you are, Padfoot."_

It was Fred's turn to laugh this time. "We're being insulted by a piece of bloody old scrap paper," he said, wiping away tears. "They're right, though. You are the uglier twin." He smirked at his brother with a wiggle of his brows. He looked back down as more words started to pop up.

" _How did you blithering idiots find this bit of_ _ **rubbish,**_ _as you say, anyway?"_

Fred and George looked at each other mischievously. "We stole it," George announced with a grin.

"Yeah," Fred added, "Right from Filthy Filch's office."

"Caught ourselves three weeks of detention just to get in there and look around," George finished, proudly.

" _Only three weeks? Now that_ _ **is**_ _rubbish."_

" _Indeed, it is."_

" _We could've pulled off much better than that, couldn't we, Wormtail?"_

" _Oh definitely, Moony!"_

"That's a new record for us, you know." sputtered the older brother, indignantly.

" _What are you two up to anyway?"_

The fiery haired twins looked at the paper and back to each other with a twinkle in their eyes. "Usually no good," they chimed together, "No good at all."

" _Is that so?"_

" _Would you swear it?"_

"Of course," Fred said. George followed him with a "Yeah" and a nod of his head.

" _Alright the, say it."_

" _Wands out… "_

" _You solemnly swear…"_

The twins each looked curious, wondering what a shabby old piece of parchment could be up to. They quickly pulled out their wands and, together, they recited, **"We solemnly swear that we are up to no good."**

Slowly, the words on the page vanished and something else began to show. _"Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_ " breathed George, his eyes follow-through words as they danced across the page "Must be the blokes that were insulting us…" his voice trailed off as the parchment came to life again.

Fred nodded his head with a grin plastered across his freckled face, he picked up where his brother had left off

" _... Are proud to present the Marauder's Map…_

MAP? MAP! It's a map!" a sharp punch in the arm reminded him to stop shouting.

As the wizards looked on, thin lines started to spread across the page, linking together to make passageways and corridors, as they studied it they soon realized they were looking at a very detailed map of Hogwarts. There were small ink dots, moving about the map, with tiny labels beneath the. A dot labeled "Mrs Norris" and another labeled "Argus Filch" were in the office they had been in not long before. As they scanned the page they noted two dots with the titles "George Weasley" and "Fred Weasley" huddled together, in Gryffindor tower.

"Bloody Hell," they sighed in unison.

"This- this map shows every person in the castle, and even on the grounds." George added, pointing to a dot labeled "Rubeus Hagrid"

"Yeah, I can see that," replied Fred sarcastically, "Wait… What's that there?" He pointed to a note in the corner of the map that was written in the same handwriting from the Messrs, earlier.

" _Don't forget, keep it safe and clear it when you're done, you don't want that greasy git Snape seeing it."_

" _Tap it with your wand and say, Mischief Managed."_

"Mischief Managed," they read, in unison, as they tapped the page with their wands. The ink on the page disintegrated until it was once again a blank piece of old parchment. They slowly turned to each other.

"... Wicked!"


End file.
